Friday, January 1, 2010

Winter to spring

Days pass
like unwrapped gifts
or delicate negligees
kept in the drawer

The year turns with songs
we do not understand
and candles never lit

What of sitting silently
inhaling the fragrance
of a dark pine

Feeling the pungent
needle carpet
softened by time

Seeing through narrowed eyes
the filtered glow
through the branches and
tasting the whisper
of each other's breath

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